


Love Ire & Song

by defying3reason



Series: College Boys and High School Girls [8]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:44:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defying3reason/pseuds/defying3reason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras discovers his boyfriend is a massive Frank Turner fanboy, in part because he identifies with the song lyrics in a really personal way. He finds this intriguing.</p><p>Or d3r leans heavily on character playlists for plot development and decided to completely forgo any subtlety about this after seeing Frank Turner in concert last night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Ire & Song

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is capable of standing alone as a one-shot, but if you're curious about where it stands in relationship to the main universe, chapter 55 of the main fic finishes off in September and this is December of the same year (so now. I went to the concert this chapter mentions last night).

Enjolras vaguely remembered Grantaire leaving for work in the morning. The sensation of hands on his shoulders gently pressing him back into the pillows, a kiss to his brow, and a fond whisper of, “You’ve only been asleep for two hours, you idiot. Close your eyes,” came back to him when he stopped to think about it.

He woke up properly around nine, showered, ate Combeferre’s leftovers for breakfast, and settled down in a study nest shortly thereafter. He figured he’d power through as much as he could until one of his roommates got home, vaguely wondering where Combeferre was, as it wasn’t like him to be up and about quite that early on a Saturday. He should have either been lazing around with the cats or lost in a study nest of his own.

By noon Enjolras was feeling irritated. The revision notes he’d gotten from the peer review of his seminar paper were far from helpful, his professor’s notes struck him as cryptic, and he really could have used Combeferre’s input before fixing up his draft. If Combeferre was out studying at a café, he really could have invited Enjolras along.

He started getting a reading headache around four, which was when he noticed that it was starting to get dark out and that he hadn’t seen his lover or his best friend all day, nor had he had any social contact of any kind. After giving his strained eyes a rub, Enjolras set his notes and his books aside, kicked the cats off his legs, and stretched his aching body. He went into the kitchen to appease said protesting body with coffee, hoping that would tide him over until his roommates got home and forced more substantive fuel on him.

“I thought Grantaire was opening today,” Enjolras murmured. If that was the case, he should be getting home soon.

Yes, Grantaire had to have been opening. He’d left before Enjolras woke up, if that vague, mostly-asleep recollection could be trusted. Maybe it couldn’t, because the museum didn’t open until ten, so why the hell would he have needed to leave before nine?

And where the hell was Combeferre? His parents and grandparents paid his bills. He didn’t have a job he needed to go to, so where was he studying, and why hadn’t he invited Enjolras?

Enjolras finished draining his coffee, then sat down with his laptop to see if facebook held any of the answers he sought. First he had to get through all the annoying cat shit Courfeyrac and Bahorel were sharing back and forth for some ungodly reason though.

Eventually, the cat-free increments of his feed increased in size and he found some pictures and statuses that filled him in. It seemed that Combeferre and Grantaire were spending a day in Boston together in anticipation of a concert they were going to, and Feuilly, Eponine, and Courfeyrac were on their way in to meet them. Enjolras clicked on a picture of Combeferre and Grantaire goofing off at North Station and felt a pang of loneliness.

“Why didn’t they invite me?” he murmured. As if in answer, his cat bumped his head against Enjolras’ leg and let out one of his oddly-pitched meows. “Raoul, I’m feeling pathetic enough without actually talking to a cat. But I’ll feed you. I didn’t forget.”

It looked like he might actually have to feed himself as well.

After pouring out some dry food for Combeferre’s eternally dieting yet eternally obese tabbys, Logan and Gladiator, Enjolras shut his own perfectly trim and healthy cat in the bathroom and gave him a can of wet food. He put down the lid and sat down on the toilet, watching his cat eat and trying not to feel too pathetic in his loneliness.

Really though, why the hell were his boyfriend and half his best friends hanging out without him? He knew he was by far the most serious member of their respective group, but did they all think him incapable of having fun? He liked fun. Just the other day, he went to see the new exhibit on avant-garde Japanese fashion at the PEM when he should have been revising an article for the International Socialist Review.

Okay, so maybe his idea of fun was a little different from, say, Courfeyrac’s, but it would have been nice to at least be invited to a rock show.

After he finished feeding the cats Enjolras fed himself to the best of his culinary abilities, which is to say he poured himself a bowl of cereal and made another pot of coffee, then he tried to study again but found himself checking facebook far too frequently to get anything done.

They must have been waiting for the show to start, because it looked like Combeferre was taking advantage of downtime to post all the pictures he’d taken throughout the day. Enjolras found some pictures of his friends walking around Faneuil Hall, some at the MFA, and a few of Grantaire playing guitar in T stations for tips.

He’d never actually heard his boyfriend play guitar before. He’d seen the battered old case in the bedroom, of course, but he wasn’t aware the instrument was a part of Grantaire’s life that still saw use.

Courfeyrac, Feuilly, and Eponine must have met up with Grantaire and Combeferre, because the next picture Enjolras found was a group shot of them wearing matching band t-shirts that must have been newly purchased. Most of them had red bracelets on their wrists, but Eponine and Grantaire had black X’s on their hands instead. Huh. He’d have to ask about that later.

The posts slowed down after that, so Enjolras once again tried to focus on his studies. He still had some research to do for his seminar paper, a take home exam for French, and a heavy looking philosophy reading he needed to at least start before bed. His thoughts kept bitterly straying to his friends, but Enjolras determinedly fixed them back on the task at hand as often as proved necessary (which was far more often than he was comfortable admitting).

* * *

By the time Grantaire and Combeferre got home, Enjolras was asleep on the couch with Raoul and Logan fighting for position on his lap and knees, respectively. A dangerous maze of books and papers had accumulated around him, and the end table and coffee table were host to numerous coffee mugs and the one empty cereal bowl.

He started awake when he heard singing accompanied by the sound of keys in the door. “ _-I want lust and love and a smattering of romance! But I’m no good at dancing, and yet I have to do some-thi-i-i—ing…_ ”

The door loudly banged open, then Grantaire and Combeferre walked into the living room wearing identical exuberant smiles. Grantaire let out an amused snort and Combeferre rolled his eyes when they saw Enjolras on the couch, once again rubbing at his eyes and annoying the cats with his movements.

“Oh babe, please tell me you’ve eaten more than one bowl of cereal today,” Grantaire said, motioning towards the lone empty bowl.

“I ate the scrambled eggs ‘Ferre left in the fridge too,” Enjolras said defensively.

Combeferre counted out the coffee cups, threw Enjolras an exasperated look, then started towards the kitchen. “I’m making you a peanut butter sandwich. How bad is your reading headache, Enj?”

“I’ve had worse.”

Grantaire slid onto the couch behind him and started rubbing his neck. Letting out a pleased ‘mm,’ Enjolras leaned back against him and let his eyes fall shut. “You’re wearing my Green Day sweatshirt,” Grantaire pointed out. “Miss me?”

“I steal this one all the time,” Enjolras said. He liked it. It was old and threadbare, and generally failed at keeping him warm, but it was comfortable and it was a tangible reminder of his lover when the man wasn't around. “But yes, I missed you. How come you guys didn’t tell me about the concert? I would have gone.”

“Enjolras, we did tell you!” Combeferre yelled from the kitchen.

“You did not-”

“Yes we did,” Grantaire insisted. “I invited you, as did ‘Ferre, and Courf and Feuilly mentioned it several times in passing at the Musain. Marius was going to go with us too, but then he bailed on us to go visit Cosette in Amherst.”

That stirred Enjolras’ memory. He remembered trying to get everyone to focus on the impending Black Friday demonstrations, but Courfeyrac and Marius were whining about something and he’d been left with the distinct impression that only Joly and Musichetta were listening to him, as even Combeferre had seemed invested in the distracting side conversation. It had annoyed the crap out of him.

Not enough for him to actually make note about what Marius and Courfeyrac were arguing about, however.

“You said you didn’t want to blow cash on concert tickets,” Grantaire reminded him. “Even though Combeferre and Courfeyrac both offered to pay for you if it meant getting you out of the house and out for a night of fun.”

“O-oh.” Well now his bitter loneliness just seemed petulant.

Enjolras decided not to mention the conversations he’d ended up holding with the cats, or the way he’d stalked facebook for their pictures and status updates. “Um, who were you all seeing again?”

“Frank Turner,” Combeferre answered, setting a peanut butter sandwich on the coffee table with a flourish. “I’ve been trying to get you to listen to him for almost a year now, but I don’t believe you’ve given his songs more than a cursory inspection.”

“They really wouldn’t be his thing, ‘Ferre,” Grantaire said with a smirk. He finished up the neck rub and switched to wrapping his arms around Enjolras’ waist while he ate the sandwich. “I just wanted Enjolras to come along for the company. As in love as I am with Frank Turner, it doesn’t seem like the kind of music an idealist would dig.”

“I like him,” Combeferre pointed out. “As does Courfeyrac and Feuilly.”

“Yeah, but you guys have only listened to Tape Deck Heart and a couple tracks off of England Keep My Bones. And even then, I still don’t get why you like him. He’s so… _me_.”

“Mm, because we hate you so much,” Enjolras said dryly.

Grantaire leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Enj, I’ve accepted that you mean it when you say you love me, but I still find it fucking confusing. I’m a bitter, loudmouthed cynic. You guys are all about hope and passion and changing things and making it better. Turner grabbed me with lines like _let’s be heroes, let’s be martyrs, let’s be radical thinkers who never have to test drive the least of their dreams_. He has songs about drunk dials and cutting and getting shitfaced. Not only do I find it baffling that you guys put up with me, I find it fucking amazing that some of you guys like the music I identify with on a brutally personal level.”

“His music’s not quite as bleak as you’re representing it,” Combeferre said, wearing a thoughtful frown. “I think Turner expresses a lot of hope with his lyrics, particularly in If Ever I Stray, and isn’t that the entire point of Recovery? _Broken people can get better if they really want to-_ ”

“ _Or at least that’s what I have to tell myself if I am hoping to survive_ ,” Grantaire finished. “He’s not sure if he believes that’s the case, he just needs to.”

“I think we hear different things when we listen to his songs, which is one of the hallmarks of a powerful performance.”

Grantaire shrugged, and Enjolras found himself incredibly curious about this musician he’d been dismissing. He’d had no idea Grantaire was that invested in the man’s work. Brutally personal, he’d called it. That level of passion wasn’t something his cynic showed a lot of.

* * *

The next day, when Grantaire actually was at work, Enjolras went for a walk with Combeferre’s mp3 player and listened to Tape Deck Heart. He started off walking with a slight smile, hearing Grantaire clearly in the first three songs. He decided The Way I Tend To Be was his favorite, as it was the most endearingly ‘Taire, though of course the way the narrator looked down on himself bothered him. He decided Plain Sailing Weather was probably an expression of Grantaire’s fears and insecurities, and he rather liked Good & Gone in its own right.

He was walking through the commons when Tell Tale Signs started, and Enjolras had to sit down on a park bench when he really heard the lyrics. He played the song through two more times. His hands were shaking by the end of it.

Okay, that was brutal, and so very Grantaire.

He took a break after that and listened to Nina Simone for the walk back to the apartment.

* * *

Enjolras spent the next week researching Frank Turner during his study breaks. When he felt a reading headache coming on, he’d set down his books and pull up youtube videos of old performances or listen to a few tracks off the CDs he’d swiped from the plastic bin at the bottom of his and Grantaire’s closet.

A Love Worth Keeping was the first song that hit him the way most of the songs hit Grantaire, and a fair few seemed to have hit Combeferre and Courfeyrac and Feuilly (apparently Eponine was a new recruit and had heard him for the first time while tagging along with her boyfriend for the show). He found himself nodding along with Eulogy as well, and predictably enjoying If Ever I Stray as much as his friends. Father’s Day hit him in a way he found disquieting.

Mostly, the songs just made him want to hug Grantaire. After his experience on the park bench he found himself unable to listen to Tell Tale Signs again. The scars not-quite hidden by Grantaire’s tattoos were painful enough without listening to music that vividly recalled them. He rather liked Imperfect Tense and The Real Damage. He felt like he was getting a better look into his lover’s soul.

He had an epiphany of sorts while listening to Love Ire & Song. Grantaire had identified that as the song that had gotten him hooked on Turner, meaning it must have struck him in that piercing way Enjolras had identified with A Love Worth Keeping. And it was about a disappointed idealist-turned-cynic who wanted to believe again for a night, even if it was only in jest…

Did that mean Grantaire’s cynicism was the result of disappointed idealism? “ _I packed all my pamphlets with my Bibles at the back of the shelf_ ,” Enjolras sang softly, thoughtfully. He couldn’t help but reminisce about the first time he’d given Grantaire one of his own pamphlets, and the way the surly art kid had mocked him for claiming to care about the environment and then ruthlessly sacrificing perfectly good trees for his self-important preaching.

Infuriating as the exchange had been, Enjolras had ultimately switched to blog posts after that, ceding Grantaire the point.

“ _I hung up my banner in disgust and I head for the door. Oh but once we were young and we were crass enough to care, but I guess you live and learn, we won’t make that mistake again, no…_ ” He couldn’t even picture Grantaire with anything like a banner. He wouldn’t help them with signs for their protests and rallies even though, as an art major, he was the most qualified to produce visual aids.

Had there been a point when Grantaire was involved in causes, not just to hang with the activists but because he genuinely believed in them? _Was he_ a jaded idealist?

Enjolras remained lying on their bed even after the song finished, wondering once more what his lover had been like before they’d met. The first time he’d seen Grantaire the kid had been tipsy, unkempt, self-deprecating, and prone to dizzying mood swings. One minute he’d be on a brilliant rant about culture, art, and philosophy, the next he’d be tearing apart Enjolras’ social politics and disparaging all his friends for giving a fuck about, well, anything.

Enjolras remembered the first time he saw Courfeyrac and Bahorel all but carry Grantaire out of the Corinth. The jerk had spent the night chewing out anyone who made the mistake of trying to cheer him up alternated with more drink than even he was capable of holding. Before they made it to Courfeyrac’s Volvo, Grantaire threw up on the curb twice and Enjolras asked if Grantaire was going to be okay.

His worries had been brushed aside by all involved, and Grantaire didn’t even remember it the next day, indignant and annoyed when Enjolras showed up at his apartment the next morning to check on him. He’d taken Enjolras’ hangover tips as judgment rather than concern, only being aware that Enjolras didn’t drink himself and not knowing that both of Enjolras’ parents were alcoholics and he knew plenty about hangovers through proxy. It was the only time he’d visited Grantaire’s place until they’d started dating, as having the door slammed in his face after being called a preachy twat left him bitter.

He’d had no idea what to make of the sometimes jovial, often cutting drunkard who followed him like a particularly obnoxious shadow, calling him out when he oversimplified, making him grow by challenging him, and annoying the fuck out of him when even he couldn’t talk around Grantaire’s somewhat more realistic if not wholly depressing commentary on his plans. Enjolras couldn’t figure out why Grantaire was drawn to him so damn much if he really thought all of Enjolras’ passions were pointless.

Even now, when Grantaire was undoubtedly doing better, no longer so overwhelmingly depressed when his cycles got bad, no longer drinking or cutting, and they were involved in the most fulfilling relationship either of them had ever experienced, they didn’t really talk about the activism. Grantaire gently teased him from time to time, and he gave Enjolras his opinion when it was solicited, but he didn’t tear him down the way he used to.

Maybe…maybe if he’d _been_ an idealist before he got unhealthy, now that he was doing better he might want to get involved again. Maybe he’d join Enjolras at protests from time to time, instead of just dismissing him as a naïve schoolboy…

“Hey.” Grantaire nudged his way into the room, careful to keep the cat and its allergens from following after him. He shrugged out of the three layers of sweatshirts he chose to wear instead of an actual coat, then flopped onto the bed beside Enjolras. “Not doing homework?”

“Study break. Plus I’m almost done revising the seminar paper.”

“Ah. You look thoughtful. You’re totally still working on the school stuff even though you don’t have a book in your hands, aren’t you?”

Enjolras rolled onto his side so that he was facing Grantaire and shook his head. “Actually, I was thinking about you.”

“Me?”

“Mm. I’ve been listening to that musician you saw without me, and his songs make me wonder about you.”

Grantaire’s eyes widened a  bit, then he burst out in a loud bark of a laugh. “Oh, that is so fucking _you_ , Enjolras. I mention I like a guy, and you go and psychoanalyze me through his lyrics.”

“I can’t help it. You intrigued me.”

“Argh…well, Frank Turner’s definitely the poet to study if you want to get at me, I suppose. What’d you come up with?” Grantaire rested a hand on Enjolras’ hip and regarded him with an odd mixture of fondness and suspense.

“Tell Tale Signs makes me shudder. I’ve decided that I’m a fan of the man’s music, so feel free to play it more, just not…not that song.”

Grantaire nodded. “It’s actually one of my favorites, but I get it. No worries. What’d you think of Love Ire & Song?”

Enjolras smirked. “It’s one of the most _you_ things I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Grantaire laughed again. “I thought so too. Fucking love that one.” He brushed back some stray strands of Enjolras’ hair and kissed the side of his mouth. “You don’t mind the dig about you activists never actually having to experience the outcome of all the fuss you kick up, huh?”

“I was actually more intrigued by the possibility of you being a former activist. Love, did you hang up your banner? Are there pamphlets packed away at the back of your shelf?” He said it teasingly, but there was no mistaking the fact that he wanted an actual answer.

Grantaire let out a groan, then rolled onto his back and covered his face with his hands. “Oh fuck, Enj…”

“You were, weren’t you?”

“Who do you think got Courf into the protest thing back in high school?”

That one got Enjolras sitting up and gaping at him in shock. “ _You_ got _Courfeyrac_ into social politics?”

“Guilty as fucking charged.”

“You’re not just screwing with me?”

Grantaire dropped the hands from his face. Even though he was smirking, it wasn’t a teasing one. He was embarrassed. “I wrote a leftist column for our school newspaper and I founded the first GSA in our city.”

“Holy shit, Grantaire! That’s…why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I dropped all of it. It…I didn’t get anywhere with it. I didn’t fix jack shit. My school was a shit place to be for gay kids and artsy kids and smart kids and any other weirdos, and I bet you anything it still is to this day. Even the stuff almost everyone agreed with didn’t work. I petitioned the administration to do a recycling program, and they scrapped it because a bunch of assholes stole one of the bins, took a shit in it, beat me up and shoved my fucking head in the bin. Rather than suspend the assholes who tortured me, the vice principal told me to be less of an instigator and maybe I wouldn’t bring that kind of shit down on myself. Literal shit, in that case.”

“Grantaire, that’s horrifying.”

“Yep.” He let out a slow breath, then nuzzled close against Enjolras. “Let’s not talk about my activist phase, okay? It wasn’t a great time for me.”

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras buried his fingers in Grantaire’s hair and toyed with the thick black strands until the haunted look left his face in favor of the contentment that had become increasingly more common since they’d settled into their relationship. “If you ever wanted to give it another shot though…”

“Enj, I know idiotic levels of optimism are kind of your thing, but don’t hold your breath on this one.”

“Okay, okay. You can’t blame an idealist for trying though.”

“No, I suppose not. So, what’d you think of Substitute?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “You occupy the fortress of my heart right along with my ideologies, so don’t be an asshole about it.”

“Love you too, o fair and faithful fighter.”

“Brat.”

“Yep. You love me anyway.”

Smiling, Enjolras bent down for a kiss. “Damn right I do.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I got obsessed with Frank Turner around the time I started writing this verse. His music has all-but-dominated my development of Grantaire as a character. Seriously, sometimes I'm pretty sure I lean on Tape Deck Heart and Love Ire & Song more than the Brick. I'm a relatively recent Frank-follower, so I've been drawing most of my inspiration from those albums as well as England Keep My Bones (which is probably my favorite so far!). I've recently purchased Poetry of the Deed and Sleep Is For The Week, so I'm sure those songs will be influencing my characterization as well. The songs I used in this fic are as follows: Four Simple Words, Love Ire & Song, If Ever I Stray, Recovery, The Way I Tend To Be, Plain Sailing Weather, Good & Gone, Tell Tale Signs, A Love Worth Keeping, Eulogy, Father's Day, Imperfect Tense, The Real Damage, and Substitute. 
> 
> If you're not a Frank fan yet, he is totally worth checking out. You won't be disappointed.


End file.
